Mummies and Daddies
by somethingcool
Summary: Kyle sees a terrifying apparition on Halloween night, but Stan's more pissed that he isn't wearing a damn costume. Is Kyle fated to marry Cartman or is something more sinister afoot?


"Where's Cartman?" Kyle asked, eyeing the group distrustfully as though one of them might rip their face off and reveal his frenemy. Ordinarily, his absence would be a cause for celebration, but right now Kyle had a reason to want – no, need – to see him.

"The fuck do you care?" Stan retorted, tucking in an escaped bandage from his mummy costume. Kyle worked at keeping his expression unchanged; Stan had been tense of late and got testy when he was asked what had got wedged up his ass. It bothered Kyle, but if Stan couldn't even tell him what the fuck was up then he wasn't going to admit that he gave a shit in the first place.

"He's housebound for the night," Butters explained, his big, trusting eyes amplified by the fake lashes he'd applied. He made an eerily good Holly Golightly in spite of his cigarette holder being confiscated by his dad, who claimed it was part of a slippery slope towards heroin addiction and selling blowjobs on street corners.

"He's grounded?" Kyle translated in disbelief.

"Shit no, the greedy fuckass did it to himself," Kenny said. He looked uncharacteristically irritated. "We went to KFC, right, and he orders first. Six of the biggest fucking buckets they've got. I thought for a second that he was going to share but no, just shovelled them all down."

"Can we go now or do we need to talk about Cartman some more?" Stan asked. His eyes doggedly sought out Kyle's. "Shouldn't you be happy that he isn't here?"

"I am," Kyle said defensively, trying to ignore the sinking in his stomach. Normally, he'd be pleased that Cartman was suffering. It was entirely Ike's fault that he wasn't happy about it today.

They'd been having dinner where Ike had blabbered on about what he'd been doing in his advanced classes. Kyle hadn't been listening, his mind preoccupied on why Stan had been frowning at him in homeroom. Ike took Kyle's lack of attention as a personal insult and crafted one of his own.

"Kyle, you'd have liked the old Halloween rituals," he'd said, his face all innocence. It was a sure sign that something Kyle wouldn't like was going to follow. "They had all these tricks to find out who your future spouse would be."

Kyle glowered over his unappetising fork of watery creamed corn.

"Ike!" Sheila reprimanded him.

"I just thought he could do with a hand. You know, so he knew which sucker to home in on."

"That's enough, Ike!"

"Sorry, Mom." He smiled beatifically at Kyle. "You want a mirror in the dark, by the way. Your life partner'll show up in it – if you ever get one, I guess."

And it wasn't that Kyle cared about, much less believed in such things, but when he went to the bathroom after dinner he'd shut the door without switching the light on and gone to stand by the mirror. He felt foolish – just as he thought he ought, standing around in the dark to test out an old superstition – but stared intently in there anyway. And, for a moment, he thought he saw the blurry face of Eric Cartman behind him.

He got the fuck out of the house, ready to prove to himself that Cartman was where he needed to be. In town, waiting for his slow ass to join the group for the Halloween party. So when he got there and found that Cartman had been taken ill after school, his creamed corn threatened to come straight back up again.

They walked in silence to the party. Or at least, Stan and Kyle did. Kenny and Butters alternated between Kenny talking dirty shit that seemingly whizzed over Butters' head and Butters speculating on the costumes they'd see at the party.

"Speaking of costumes," Stan said, suddenly, though the two of them had done no such thing, "Where's yours?"

"I'm wearing it." Stan eyed Kyle's perfectly normally clothes. "I'm a modern-day Frankenstein."

"So where's your green skin and neck studs?"

"Frankenstein, not Frankenstein's monster." Stan's face was blank. "Frankenstein was the scientist, Stan." He hadn't been able to hold back the bitter note of superiority in his voice, but regretted it as Stan flinched as if bitten.

"You haven't done shit," Stan said, "And your 'costume' is douchey."

"Fuck you."

They fell back into sullen, silent steps, with Kenny and Butters' light chatter providing a sour backdrop. Stan practically assaulted Bebe's door when they reached her house. She opened the door clad in a slinky, long black dress. She might have made a good Morticia Addams if not for tendrils of wavy blonde hair tumbling out from the black wig she'd tried to cram it under.

"Hi!" she chirped, ushering them all in. "Butters, how did you get your lashes so great? You've got to tell me!"

Butters and Bebe headed towards the kitchen, engrossed in cosmetics talk as clinical and impenetrable to a layman as a Russian medical journal. Stan stormed to the living room and Kyle felt unsure whether or not he should follow. Kenny prodded Kyle with his scythe.

"Move that ass, dude."

"Oh, yeah." He fell into step with Kenny and soon joined Stan and a cluster of various other classmates.

"Hi," Wendy said, flicking up some non-essential fingers away from her red plastic cup by way of greeting. "Hey, where's Cartman?"

"Why does everyone suddenly give a fuck about that asshole?" Stan asked aggressively. "That was the first thing Kyle asked when he bothered to turn up, too."

"Wow, nice," she said, her eyes narrowed.

"Sorry," Stan said, staring at his battered white sneakers. "That was unfair. 'Least you bothered to say hi first."

"Where's your costume?" Craig demanded, nodding in Kyle's direction.

"I'm a modern day Frankenstein," Kyle said, shuffling uncomfortably.

"What?" Craig asked. "So, like...a guy?" Kyle nodded. "That's kind of a douche move." Harsh criticism, Kyle felt, from the guy in a skeleton hoodie.

"I guess that's better than your other idea," Wendy said. Kyle squirmed. "Oh," she said, as if understanding, and turned back to Stan. "Is that what's got you all pissed off? Stan, sometimes people just don't want to do paired costumes on the night, especially when they realise they're actually pretty bad ideas in the first place."

"What?" Stan asked. Kyle decided now was a good idea to extract himself and see if Bebe had managed to sneak any booze into the party. To his dismay, Kenny slipped along with him.

"What was your other idea?" he asked.

"It was shitty."

"Shittier than the one you actually went with?" Kenny asked, laughing at the idea. "Were you just gonna roll around in dog shit or something?"

"I'm not in the mood, Kenny!"

"Sorry, sorry," Kenny said, amiably. "So what was it?"

"Just drop it!"

"I've got a hipflask of vodka. What was it?"

Kyle glanced around, his face flushed. "A daddy."

Kenny squinted. "Huh?"

"A daddy," Kyle muttered, avoiding Kenny's eyes. "Carrying a baby toy and - because Stan was going as a mummy, okay? Look, just give me the vodka, asshole." Kenny shook his head, but pulled a steel flask from the folds of his cloak. Kyle uncorked it gratefully and took a swig.

"Still better than your actual decision, I guess. Maybe. You probably should have done it."

"Yeah, well, Stan hasn't exactly been approachable lately so I never got round to suggesting it to him."

"Still don't know what's up with him?" Kyle shook his head.

"Not a fucking clue." Kenny patted Kyle on the back and waved his hand as Kyle held the flask out to him. "Nah, dude, I think you need it more – hey, what the fuck?"

Kyle followed Kenny's gaze and spotted Cartman, who wasn't attached to a toilet as they'd all been expecting. Cartman seemed to waver for a second as his eyes met Kyle's, but he swaggered over regardless.

"'Sup?" he asked, making to grab the hip flask from Kyle. Kyle held firm.

"How come you're not shitting your guts out somewhere?" Kenny demanded, the injustice of Cartman hogging so much fried chicken skin clearly still rankling him. Kyle's phone buzzed in his pocket, having received a message from Ike. Kyle's hand shook as he finished reading it.

"Where have you been tonight?" he exploded. "Did you – you were in my bathroom, you fucking creep, weren't you?"

"Aw, shit," Cartman said, sighing.

"You broke into my bathroom to take a shit after eating six buckets of KFC?! The plumber says the toilet's completely bust!"

"How did you get it out so quickly?" Kenny asked, a tint of admiration grudgingly creeping into his voice.

"Uh, there are pills for that, Kenny. And yeah, I thought it'd be a sweet Halloween prank."

"You're a disgusting piece of shit," Kyle spat.

"Who cares? I crapped your toilet to death, Jew! Take that!"

"I see you guys found your BFF," Stan's voice came from behind them. "You must be so happy."

"He's not my BFF; he broke my toilet!"

"Maybe if you hadn't been so fixed on seeing your future boyfriend in the bathroom mirror you could have stopped me!" Cartman wrinkled his face up in exaggerated disgust. "Ugh, so you did see me – did you really think I'd stoop to marring you?"

"Huh?" said Stan, looking from one to the other. Kenny, Kyle noted angrily, had vanished.

"You were listening in on dinner?" Kyle demanded, his outrage superseding embarrassment temporarily. "Just how long were you trespassing in my house?"

"Um, duh, it still takes a while to get that much out. I'd settled in for the long haul but then I had to go hide in the shower when you burst in." Cartman turned to Stan. "Get this, dude, Kyle was staring in the mirror in the dark to see his true love or some crap."

"And he saw you," Stan said, through gritted teeth. "Well, you can both go get fucked. Together."

"Wait, what?" Kyle asked.

"No, Stan, it's funny because I wouldn't marry him," Cartman slowly explained. "Get it? Hang on, maybe if Jimmy told it-"

"You think I don't get what's going on?" Stan said, the red cup in his fist a crumpled shell. He faced Kyle full on. "With Cartman always trying to get your attention and you always looking out for what he does next?"

"Because he does shit like break my toilet!" Kyle cried out in exasperation. "God, if I hadn't been so freaked out, I could have stopped it, but who the fuck expects someone to be hiding in their fucking bathroom?"

"Yeah, he's pulling your hair for attention and you're – you're draping it over his desk!"

"I do not!" Kyle cried, indignantly.

"Like he could if he wanted with that Jewfro."

"Shut it, fatass!"

"See?" Stan said. To Kyle's horror, Stan's eyes looked glossy with tears. "You're so obsessed with him that you can't even do a damn Halloween costume any more!"

"I was going to do one but you were shutting me down every time I tried to talk to you!"

"Oh, now you're dependant on me for face paints and shit?"

"It's Kyle," Cartman said, as though stating that snow was cold. "He relies on you for everything."

"Fuck off!" they barked at him in unison.

"I couldn't do the costume without you and I figured you'd stop being an asshole sometime before today," Kyle explained.

"Oh, I'm the asshole?" Stan asked, jabbing his thumb at his chest. "You didn't need me for shit, you're just – you're just obsessed with that douche!"

"My idea wouldn't have worked so well by myself!"

"What, being a mummy? I didn't buy the town out of bandages."

"I didn't want to be a mummy! I wanted to be the daddy to your mummy!"

"What gay-ass shit is this?" Cartman asked, but Kyle was too busy studying Stan to care.

"I don't get it."

"Like – mummy is like a mom in French, right?" Kyle explained, wretchedly. "So I wanted to be the daddy to your mommy and carry a baby doll and shit."

"That is soooo gay," Craig said. Kyle's stomach fell in the direction so much chicken had fallen that night as he realised they'd attracted an audience. Stan's mouth crept up at the corners.

"Dude," he said.

"Dude?" Kyle asked, hopefully. Stan's strong, quarterback arms crushed him in a hug.

"Would it kill them to not make one evening about them and their drama?" Craig complained.

"Maybe we should get out of here and stop forcing Craig to pay attention to our private conversation," Kyle suggested.

"Oh, yeah. Private conversations always involve yelling that other people can't ignore and drowns out the conversations they're attempting to hold. How could I forget?"

"Yeah," Stan agreed, tugging Kyle by the hand. They threaded their way through the crowd, past Kenny who shrugged apologetically at Kyle, and out into the bite of the deep autumn weather. Stan ripped off a trailing bandage and draped it around Kyle's neck like a scarf.

"Sorry I've been such an asshole lately," he said, taking Kyle's hands in his fabric-wrapped ones to keep them from the South Park frost. "I was just...jealous, I guess. But. Uh. You want to be the daddy to my mummy? Like, not just for Halloween?" Kyle's heart hammered so hard he was scared his ribs might crack.

"I'd rather be the daddy to your daddy, but without the kid."

"Not even in the future?"

"The future's okay."

"How about pets? Like, a terrapin in college or something?"

"Dude, I'm not dumb enough to deny you pets. You'd just sneak them in if I did, anyway."

"Cool." Stan grinned nervously. "Um, so, should we kiss now?"

"I guess so?" Kyle inched closer. Stan freed his hands and took hold of his face instead. Kyle closed his eyes, his toes curling as he felt Stan's breath on his face. Stan's lips pressed gently to his and Kyle pressed back, a clumsy mix of eager and anxious. In spite of their mutual nerves, their chapped lips from the harsh climate, and Cartman's sniggering from the door, it was perfect.


End file.
